


Icebox

by coffeeandfeathers



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, Catholic Guilt, Fix-It, Fluff, Foggy finds himself taking care of Matt again, Hurt/Comfort, I feel like Foggy takes care of Matt a lot in college, M/M, also slightly tipsy Foggy, college matt/foggy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 13:04:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3979075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeandfeathers/pseuds/coffeeandfeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt doesn't sleep nearly enough. As a result, he passes out in the weirdest positions, including upright in the middle of an Our Father. Foggy finds him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Icebox

Foggy had _intended_  to spend the night in with Matt, quizzing each other for their respective language finals, but Marci cornered him after class and before he knew it, it was one in the morning and he was stumbling back to the dorms, a little too drunk for a Tuesday evening. He clattered up the stairs, swearing as he groped for his keys, and jammed the wrong one into the lock three times before he considered trying another.

            The room was like a meat locker. A cursory glance at the thermostat told him that it was set to a little over forty degrees, and Foggy shivered and cranked the heat up, wondering why Matt had turned it down so low. But Matt’s bed was empty, as was Foggy’s, which Matt had a tendency to fall asleep in. Where could he be? Foggy thought, scanning the darkened room for a second before his eyes fell on a huddled shape next to the window, nearly scaring him into a heart attack in the process. Upon closer inspection, Foggy found that Matt was on his knees in a patch of moonlight in only his boxers, his hands red and chapped around his rosary, his eyes closed.

            “Matt? Matty?” Foggy poked him in the shoulder with one finger. No response.

            Oh shit. Had he died while praying? Was that the optimal position in which to die? Was the room so cold because it was literally filled with Matt’s ghost? Another poke, this time to Matt’s face, yielded different results. He was still soft and breathing, if cold to the touch, and Foggy realized he’d fallen asleep sitting up, his body finally giving in to the ridiculous study regimen he’d put himself on. Drunk as he was, Foggy figured he couldn’t let Matt stay there all night. Better wake him up and get him into bed before he froze to death.

            “Hey, Matt,” Foggy said, shaking Matt’s shoulder. Matt jolted awake with a gasp for air, an action so sudden that Foggy jumped back as if he’d been burned. Matt didn’t seem to realize what had woken him, just looked down at the rosary in his hands and began running it through his fingers, speaking in monotone.

            “Our Father who art in heaven hallowed be thy name…” his voice was raspy, as if he’d been speaking for hours. “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.”

            “Matt. C’mon, Matt, snap out of it.” Foggy shook him again and this time Matt looked up, his blank eyes raw and red from sleeplessness.

            “Foggy?” he said, his head lolling to the side.

            “What are you doing sitting on the floor at one in the morning? Why is it like a fucking icebox in here?” Foggy asked. Matt turned his head down to the rosary again even though he couldn’t see it.

            “I… made it like the church.” He was shivering, his lips and the beds of his fingernails blue from the cold.

            “You have church in a meat locker? C’mon, let’s get you into bed,” Foggy said, trying to haul Matt to his feet, but Matt resisted.

            “No!” he said with unusual force and Foggy drew back. “I gotta… I gotta say more.”

            “I think you’ve said enough. C’mon, it’s bedtime.”

            “No, Foggy,” Matt said, but Foggy had already scooped him up in his arms and held him close to his chest.

            “You’re freezing. How long were you sitting there?”

            “After dinner,” Matt said, and Foggy’s stomach went cold.

            “We ate at seven.”

            “Yeah. My knees hurt.”

            Foggy looked at Matt’s legs draped over his left arm and had to keep himself from gagging. There were clear markings in his skin from where the slats from the wood floor had bitten into him and blood dripped from the puncture where a fat splinter had imbedded itself in his bony left knee.

            “I can take care of that,” Foggy said, laying Matt down on his bed. “Lemme get you some Neosporin and a bandaid.”

            “No, it’s s’posed to hurt. Like a saint.”

            “You haven’t slept in over thirty hours. I think the caffeine is getting to you,” Foggy said, and Matt just trembled and rolled over, pulling his legs in close.

            “I gotta say more. I’m not… it’s not done. I’m not done.”

            Foggy gently pried the rosary from Matt’s clenched hands and set it on the bedside table. “Your body’s telling you it’s time to sleep. Jesus says it’s time to sleep. You’re freezing.”

            “I’m okay.” Matt said, burying his face in his pillow, but he shivered as Foggy took his hands away.

            “No, you’re not. Here.” Foggy unbuttoned his flannel and draped it over Matt, feeling much more sober now that Matt was the one who needed caring for. Matt curled up under the flannel, pulling it tightly around his body.

            “It smells like you,” he said. “And beer.”

            “Very astute observation,” Foggy said, flicking on the bathroom light so he could examine the medicine cabinet.

            “’s warm,” Matt said, and Foggy heard him shift in bed. “Like you.”

            “Well I am definitely warmer than you right now, buddy,” Foggy said, returning to the darkened room and sitting down on Matt’s bed. “You wanna sit up for a second?”

            Matt slowly pushed himself into a vaguely upright position, his eyes waving around the room, and Foggy pulled out the splinter before dabbing on the antiseptic and gently applying a band-aid.

            “Feel better?” he asked, and Matt sank into his pillows, Foggy’s flannel still draped loosely over his shoulders. “You want some pjs?”

            “No,” Matt said, but Foggy fished a pair of silk pajama trousers off the floor and all but wrestled him into them before taking off his own shoes and jeans and lying down next to him.

            “What’re you doing?” Matt asked, his raspy voice decreasing in volume until it was almost a whisper.

            “What do you think? I’m warming you up.” Foggy wrapped his arms around Matt, who stiffened at first and then melted against Foggy’s chest like butter.

            “Thank you.”

            “You’re like a skinny glacier.”

            Matt giggled and almost immediately after, his breathing slowed and he fell back into a deep sleep.

            “You’re not going to remember any of this, are you?” Foggy asked, but Matt was already dead to the world. “Figures. Guess Punjabi will have to wait til tomorrow.” He kissed Matt’s hair gently, pulled him in close, and fell asleep with Matt breathing lightly and quietly against him.


End file.
